Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Give me an hour,” I say.
“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll pick you up.”
“No,” I reply quickly. I never accept rides from anyone. It’s too important to be able to leave whenever I want to. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I need the security blanket of my own vehicle. It’s yet another thing that life with my father taught me. You can never rely on other people, no matter how close they seem. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay,” she says, not picking up on any of my neurotic subtext. “The Parakeet, don’t be late.”
“I won’t,” I promise. “Congratulations again.”
I hang up and continue working on my toes. After I’ve given them fifteen minutes to dry, I throw on some clothes. I’m not going to make the same mistake I made this morning. This time, I’m going to dress the part. I find one of my slinkiest club dresses in the back of my closet. How long has it been since I wore this one? It feels like ages.
I pull the dress on and go look at myself in the mirror. Something is missing. I try on a few necklaces and settle on a rhinestone choker. Very shocking. I apply some makeup and manage to make it out the door in under an hour.
The Parakeet is one of my favorite bars. It doesn’t have any of that mafia vibe that gave me the willies over at Frankie’s place. It’s brightly lit and fun, with happy music and a clientele that draws from the yuppies downtown rather than gamblers or thugs. But still, I have to be cautious. You never know when danger will strike, even in the most innocent of circumstances.
I say hi to the bouncer as I walk through the door, spotting Rebecca at a table in the corner. There’s a band on stage playing covers of Led Zeppelin songs. The singer is a little too clean cut to pull off a Robert Plant, but I give the drummer credit. I’m feeling way better than I did just hours before, and I’m glad I decided to come out tonight.
“Hey, girl,” I say, kissing Rebecca’s cheek.
“Hey, glad you could come out,” she responds, shimmering in her pearl-colored dress. “I’m looking to pick up one of these guys.”
“Which one?” I ask, glancing around the bar. There are a couple of college kids up front, and a guy who looks like he just stepped off a construction site near the door.
“Him,” Rebecca says, pointing at the construction worker.
“More power to you,” I say.
“Here, do you want to order?” she asks, handing me a menu. She’s already got a drink in front of her.
I look around and spy a single waitress at the other end of the room. It feels like it’s going to be a while before she gets around to our table again. No matter, I’m in no hurry.
“What, you’re not looking for someone to spend the night with?” Rebecca prods.
“No thanks,” I say, thinking about Francisco. “My life is complicated enough.”
“Or maybe,” Rebecca cuts in, harpooning my nighttime fantasies, “you’re thinking about a certain cute law student.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Actually, no. He’s sweet, but not really my type.”
“Tell me about him,” Rebecca demands.
I’m excited to share some of my thoughts, but I’m careful not to say too much. I know Francisco wouldn’t appreciate me spreading the word about all his money. But I decide that a little bit of detail can’t hurt.
“He’s rich,” I say.
“How rich?” Rebecca asks, leaning forward.
“Very,” I answer. “And he’s a little bit unfocused. I kind of get the feeling that becoming a lawyer is just the latest in a long line of attempts to please his father.”
“Ah,” Rebecca says. “That kind of guy.”
“Exactly,” I respond.
“And how did you meet him?” Rebecca pushes me for information.
“Like I said,” I reply, referencing an earlier conversation. “We ran into each other on the street. I was having a bad day, and he offered to buy me a cup of coffee.”
“Girl, I can’t believe you got a job offer thanks to a meltdown in public,” Rebecca teases.
“I didn’t have a meltdown,” I object.
“I wasn’t there,” she allows me a bit of dignity, “but I’m pretty sure that you did.”
“You’re the worst,” I declare, but I don’t mean it.
“Hi there, my name is Mandi,” the waitress introduces herself, looking harried yet pleasant all at the same time. She’s about my age and thin as a rail. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have a vodka martini,” I say.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks Rebecca.
“No thanks,” Rebecca says.
“Another glass of wine?” the waitress insists.
“Sure,” Rebecca caves. “And the phone number of that guy over there.” She points at the construction worker.
“You’re on your own there,” Mandi says, perking up. She walks away to get our drinks, leaving me and Rebecca to hash over our respective careers together.